Page 47 of Depraved

And that comes in handy.

The guys have kept it discreet tonight, using only a few floor spotlights. They’re aimed at the badly beaten guy strung up by chains and hooked to that handy-as-hell cement wall.

His face is bruised and swollen, a gash under his right eye congealed with crimson. The chains rattle against one another, a brutal melody of torture as his fatigue shows, and his body sways when his knees buckle.

Antonio falls in step as we walk toward where Vincenzo is leaned in talking to the guy, no doubt telling him that he’ll make it all stop if he just gives us what we want.

“Did you make any progress?” I question, reaching into the inside pocket of my coat.

Antonio looks down at his red, swollen knuckles, flexing and straightening his hand.

“Not yet. He’s sticking with the same story. He was hired over the phone, doesn’t know who. Just supposed to send the info to an email.”

“Bullshit,” I counter pulling out a silver cigar case.

“Completely. But he’s committed,” he intones as we come to stand a few feet away.

I run the fire over the tip of my cigar and put it in my mouth. Vincenzo comes to stand with us, his back to the guy, and I nod to him as I puff, relighting my Cuban.

Blowing out a puff of smoke, I look over Vin’s shoulder and back to the guys.

“He works for someone big and bad. That’s the only reason he doesn’t buckle.”

They both nod at me in agreement, and I know what I need to do.

“What’s his name?” I ask, holding the cigar between my teeth, and shrug off my jacket.

Antonio takes it, folding it over a chair beside him. “Frank,” he offers as I unbutton my suit jacket and hand that to him too.

“No fucking way. It’s a bad week for Franks,” I laugh to their amused faces.

Walking over, I uncuff my sleeves and begin to roll them up, exposing the veins on my tattooed forearms. I come to a stop in front of our half-conscious friend and take a drag of my cigar, then blow the smoke in his face.

He coughs, the chains rattling as he pulls away, mumbling a few incoherent words.

“Frank…hey,” I bark, slapping his cheek. “Wake up, Frank.”

More mumbles as his head bobs, hanging down between his upstretched arms. I look back at Antonio and Vincenzo in irritation. I told them to leave him conscious.Assholes.

“I missed cannoli for this. Wake him up.”

Vin walks toward a safety spigot that has a hose attached like the ones on a fire truck and begins to pull it over.

“Ah fuck. I love cannoli…Mama’s has the best in town. I’ll kill anyone who says different.” Antonio agrees, taking the hose from Vin.

I walk a few feet away, not wanting to be in the spray, and nod.

The freezing cold water turns on with a violent blast, shooting straight onto Frank’s body. He yells and bucks against the pain from the force of the water.

Vincenzo starts to cheer, clapping his hands. “There we go. Nice to see you again.”

I hold up my hand, and Antonio stops the assault. I walk over and stand in front of his water-swept face, watching him cough and shake his head as he tries to get his bearings.

“Sorry. I’m sure you understand why that was necessary. I can’t get answers if you’re sleeping.”

“Fuck you,” he spits, the blood from his mouth landing on my shoe.

I look down, and my jaw tenses. “That was rude, Frank. How about you make it up to me. Tell me who you work for? Better yet, why’d the girl’s family want you looking for her?”